My Son's Coming Out

  My son just came out of his closet the other day. It's funny how we joke about this; my friends and I all being mostly 2, 3, 4 mom - headed families. We all had our different coming out stories. But now, being in the parental roles, it's just as strange to navigate.


   We were on a playground when a friend of mine mentioned how gallant my Kody was to her daughter back on the slide, taking her daughters hand and helping her and her friend off gently. Later, alone with my boy, I expressed how proud I was and how his gentlemanly reputation had reached me. He asked what I meant, and when I explained, he got very serious. "Mom, I have to tell you something."


   I recognized the severe tone, but not from experience with him. "What's up Bud?"


   "I like girls."


   I laughed.


   "No Ma, really. I'm serious. I know I want to marry a girl."


   We're always so quick to include "wife or husband" or "husband or wife" whenever referring to anyone's future marriage plans. I told him not to worry about who he wants to marry right now, and to just be nice to everyone.


   "Just because you like and want to marry a girl doesn't mean you only be nice to girls. I want you to help boys too if they need it."


   He scrunched up his nose. "Help boys?"


   I felt my defenses go up. "Yes help boys. What's wrong with helping boys? I want you to be nice to everyone no matter who they are or who they love." (In case you're wondering, yes, I am aware of how hard I am on him.)


   Five minutes after telling all the girls my son's coming out story, I hear a familiar "Mooom!!!" coming from the slide. My son's head pops up from behind another couple boys. "Mom! I helped a boy!"

   I love this kid.

Little Red Writing Hood

   Sometimes I feel a guilty.

   We are invariably coming home Friday night, too tired to clean, too tired to ...anything. This, however, is a time when all of us - even the four year old - each have our own devices. You start to bear the burden of your choices. Nobody has to watch or do anything they are not completely into. Little by little one device gets a little too loud, a little too distracting, so that it doesn't seem like such a stretch to retreat into another room for what turns out to be the rest of the evening.  

   Saturdays are usually so chocked full of birthday parties, visits, appointments, etc. Sundays are pervaded buy the looming Monday and the weight of the rest of the week's long wait for Friday again.

   This one was different. The fatigue of the week didn't dissipate with Friday's sleep. It hung over Saturday morning and hit us so hard it squashed all plans and kept us home in our individual worlds long enough until we finally were able to emerge from them unimpeded.

   The kids fell asleep early, and the moms stayed up late.

   This Sunday morning, I got to sleep in because Kody, my oldest, was designing a play. It was a unique adaptation of Little Red Riding Hood. Kody assigned the characters, handled the issues when Niky, the youngest, did not want to be the Big Bad Wolf, wrote the scripts (for Little Red Writing Hood), designed the costumes, brought in the audience, and directed the play. Before we knew it we were all laughing and loving our story right along with our chosen stuffed animals as Grandma came out of the closet and slayed the Big Bad Wolf herself! We howled in unison and bowed together for our (imaginary) standing ovation and paid special homage to Takoda, the writer, director, costume designer and producer of our production, and stearer of us all back to the path.

Letting them know they can be anything they want to be

One of my son's favorite things to do is to grab a bunch of small stuffed animals, tuck them inside his shirt, and then ask one of us to pull them out gently while he commences regular rhythmic breathing (i.e. "Hee hee hee whooo... Hee hee hee whooo...")

   "Why do you like to pretend to give birth so much?"

   "Well because I want to be a woman."

   "I see. [This after the fit he had the other day to cut his hair to 'be a boy'] ...and do you think giving birth is the best part about being a woman?"

   "Yes."

   "Don't you know you can be anything you want to be?"

   "I can't make a baby."

   "What if I showed you a man who got pregnant?" 

      I show him a picture of Thomas Beatie:

      https://share.google/efUZwiPbYzvYKbSd8

   His eyes widen. "That's... so... cool!"

   "I tell ya Kody, you'd make an incredible woman. And I don't say that to a lot of men!"

Fun Formalities at the Passport Office

   I was aware the nightmare that attaining official papers can be before going to the passport office. So I did a first practice run before the real thing. I was told I had to have everyone present, including my oldest 5 year old in a fill length leg cast.

   2nd visit to Passport Office - both kids and Ema in car outside, waiting: I hand in all my papers.

   [Starts handing everything back to me] "You need an original birth certificate. This one is a copy."

   "Oh yeah, the new 'original' I'd ordered. Here." It had taken me 4 1/2 years to finally get an accurate original but that's another post.

   [Reluctantly, she peruses more papers]. "What is this... Takoda?"

   "He's my son."

   [Starts handing everything back to me] "You cannot do this without both parents present."

   "We are both present. She's in the car with the boys."

   "She? Where's the father?"

   "His other mother is in the car with him. He's not in here right now because he has a full length leg caste on. Your coworker said you wouldn't mind going out to him so he wouldn't have to climb in and out of his wheelchair just to be looked at."

   "There's no father?"

   "No, there's not."

   [Starts handing everything back to me] "Can't do it without the father here."

   "Not there is no father here. There is no father. He has two mothers. We're legally married and have been since before he was born. Look, see? Here is the marriage license and we're both on the birth certificate."

   "It says 'father.'"

   "It says 'father/parent.'"

   "Ahhh..."

   Only from here on in, she gave me the benefit of the doubt and stopped handing me back all my papers.

Dear New York Vital Records,

   Four years ago my wife gave birth to our first son. The hospital did not have the proper birth certificate form with a space for two mothers available. They told me you would send me the proper records within a few months.

   The end of January, you sent me back a birth certificate listing me as the father. I returned it with a note, the proper forms, and requested that you fix the problem.

   You then sent me back a new birth certificate listing me as the mother - but male. I sent this back again with the proper forms - again - including a copy of my birth certificate, and a note assuring you that my sexuality had little affect on my gender.

   Since then we have had copies of these (albeit inaccurate) records held up in a lawyer's office while my official adopting of my son took place. (We didn't want to wait on that any longer.). The adoption has just recently concluded.

   I understand it is your policy to make parents pay for records beyond a certain date of the birth, however, since much of this delay is due to extremely insulting "errors" on the part of your office, perhaps you would see to it that I receive a proper birth certificate from you finally for free of these erroneous charges and perhaps even with some haste and diligence to get it right this time?

   Thank you kindly for your ownership.

   Alison -------, Mother (FEMALE)

The Right Questions

You try to raise them right. You create a happy home despite every obstacle facing two mommies, a little brother and a cat. You go to church on Sundays and Tot Shabbat on Friday nights. Yet still they pick all kinds of stuff up off the streets! Kody has picked up that boys kiss only girls, and vice versa.


The other day, Grandpa bought Kody a couple Kermit and Fozzy dolls from the Disney Store. My wife Amy, pretending the two dolls were excited to know they were going home together, had the Kermit kiss Fozzy. That's when my beautiful, sweet, innocent 4 1/2 year old son without missing a beat said "Fozzy's not a girl!"



Really. And it's been consistent. This weedy heterosexist paradigm has taken root right in my own son's brain! My boy who wouldn't even exist without the help of a home cut syringe and a Dixie cup just indirectly passed judgement on me and his Ema! It's gotten me thinking all week about what it would take to combat this. Just this morning, on the way to work I heard a transgender woman of color talking on the radio about the violence she experienced upon arrival to our "progressive" New York City, and found myself agreeing with her assertion that as many different people as there are here, as much tolerance as we assume, no where have we experienced more blind prejudice as there is right here! Just as she was targeted and beaten right in the same area where the Stonewall Riots changed the course of our cultural history, I too, have experienced backstabbing and blatant homophobia as well. In addition, almost 500 gay men were attacked last year here in New York City alone. And sometimes, the phobics are sneakier, limiting our career trajectories, isolating us socially, even sometimes unintentionally. TV images are not enough. Marriage "Equality" is not even enough. When prejudice and ignorance are backed by history, religion, and law – what can stop them? We have come so very far, yet we truly have so very far to go.



The fact remains that heterosexists don't watch "Will and Grace." And heterosexists miss that flash of a gay family in a sauna during the store scene of Disney's Frozen (shoot, even I did!) Heterosexists, in fact, rarely even realize they're heterosexist! Why would they? Their kids don't assume Mom and Dad are siblings!


I was upset. But then a seemingly unrelated event this week gave me an idea.


Back in the days when I was first struggling with the realization that I was in fact attracted to women, I came across a cable TV show called Queer as Folk.


Amy and I both did, and we watched week-by-week, learning, judging, sometimes laughing with the characters. Some of it was problematic. It was hard not to react emotionally to the misogyny. Most of it was raunchy. But it was in fact an interesting, well written, hot show. The day we really got hooked was the day the last episode of season one aired. That episode we watched with jaws dropped as the main couple, Brian and Justin, danced to the tune of "Save the Last Dance" in front of all Justin's Catholic High School peers - at Justin's Prom!


Maybe this sounds humdrum to you. But there are so many romantic situations that scare the homophobic (even the out queer ones) to their very cores, and imagining having to face the fear of dancing - and dancing in front of straight people - and dancing in front of straight people at something as traditional as a prom - a CATHOLIC school prom --- it stops you right in your tracks! Even them - two beautiful, fit, rhythmic gay men (who could possibly be better dancers?) - to watch them together was a moment in my life I will never forget. I was stunned, dumbfounded. It wasn't a fancy dance. There was no theatrics. They were just two guys, both in suits, who happened to love each other, dancing. They had every right and yet it's the kind of scene that forces you to examine your expectations - your prejudices - your insecurities. And they do it so well, so eloquently, that by the end you want to leap out of your seat and cheer them on (at least I did) because the process of watching that dance is healing.


This gave me the idea.


Queer as Folk just finally came out on Netflix. I put it on. It was just playing on my phone but Kody loves music. I think he's attracted to all things classic.


"What's that music coming from Mom?" he asked like clockwork.


"A show" I said.


"Oh, a show. Can I see?"


Perfect.


I watched his eyes adjust to the image. I watched with poised expectation. Yup. That was indeed two men - dancing - the Fox Trot. I let the image settle into his mind.


"They love each other." I casually mentioned. "Isn't that sweet?"


"Yes" he said. He watched a little longer, and then eventually moved on to other things as any 4 year old would.



But, that was a moment. And there will be others. I just have to seize every opportunity. (And, incidentally for anyone trying this at home, I highly recommend fast forwarding until just after Brian's conversation with Daphne as he cut in. There's some language in that part I'd forgotten to be a tad inappropriate.)


We need more than the right questions though. We need the right images.


And we need them everywhere!

"When Love, Pride and Youth Collide"

"I think women who kiss women are weird."

I should have seen that coming, but I didn’t. It seemed to come out of nowhere, like a sucker punch. I’d been busying myself balancing my own new family life, career, and extended family responsibilities, but while sometimes you can immerse yourself in one world, you forget there are many.

I know it was like that for my wife, Amy too.

We'd just had a great day. We'd gotten my niece, met our temple friends and their families on the Pier, hung out at a waterpark all day, then packed up to find parking just in front of Washington Square Park on 5th Avenue perfectly poised to rest and watch the dykes come marching in. It was NYC Pride - our first with our newborn son, and our second with my older niece in tow. Afterwards, niece (not completely dried off and in her last change of clothes) was one to the first to dive into the fountain for a refreshing casting off of conformity. I'd expected this conversation at some point but was surprised, unprepared, and, let's face it, a little disappointed, to actually be having it during Pride.

But I mean, she's six.

"Do you think it's weird when guys and girls kiss?" I asked a second before Amy's arm gently but firmly crossed over mine.

"Yeah" she’d said. I sighed. I felt such relief that this might turn out to just be a kid’s aversion to sex thing. "I mean, - no, no, no…" she added. "I thought you said when guys kiss guys." Then, she gathered her thoughts together in perfect succession with the Republican majority, and spoke with the finality of absolutely secure, systematically measured authority: "I think it's weird when girls kiss girls and guys kiss guys."

Kids don't think about things for long. They've got too much to learn. They're too busy growing, stumbling. I knew she didn’t realize what this felt like for me. If a punch is thrown unintentionally, does it hurt? Or maybe that was Amy's arm? My philosophical musings kept me entertained for a while after that.

The car ride home was uneventful, but it was strangely quiet. The dinner after was too. My poor mother-in-law met us for pizza all happy on the warmth of summer and Merlot. She wasn't even aware of how Amy's uncharacteristic snap at Crystal's straw flick (in all fairness, Amy didn't know it was accidental at the time) was fully loaded with the pain of lingering and unprocessed resentment. I took Crystal outside when I saw the tear in her eye. I knew she was playing up the drama, but what's childhood for if not to try out a few personas? We sat propped up on my truck, kicking our feet and looking at the sky. We talked a little about her and her life - nothing too serious. But something had changed. She'd grown, and grown beyond my control. I needed to deal with this. But how?

Later that night, we got the baby into his crib, Crystal tucked into her away-bed, and as usual Amy and I went into each other's arms - a little more restless for the wear this time.

After a long talk about hurt, pain, betrayal, teaching philosophies, childhood memories and circumstances, parenting plans, the state of the world and the future of our family; we finally fell asleep with a plan. I was proud of us as a couple this night.

The next morning, I woke Crystal up. (This is very unusual.)

"We have to start getting ready if I'm to take you home before Amy, Kody, and I go to the parade."

She was still rubbing her eyes before delivering the usual. "Can't I stay with you?"

I stopped, and sighed. "Well, if you want to come we'll have to have a talk about something first."

She leaned back, a little resigned but attentive.

"Amy and I didn't think you'd want to come to the parade today because of what you said yesterday." She looked confused. "You remember what you said?” She shook her head, no. “…about girls who kiss girls and guys who kiss guys?" I paused and waited for recognition. I got it, but I don't think she'd suspected this had affected us at all. "You know how people kiss people they love?" I got nods. "Well, there may be more guys who kiss girls in the world, and that may make it seem like the others are strange or even wrong, but the people you called ‘weird' are often called worse. Sometimes they are even really hurt for this.”
“See” I continued, “It’s easy to judge. It’s even easier when you’re judging something you don’t relate to or have any experience with. But you can’t judge at the same time that you love.”
“You understand people often kiss when they love, right?” (Nods) “It should be easier to love than to judge, but sometimes it’s not. Still, no matter what, - no matter what people do or say, these people love themselves and each other anyway. That's what pride is. It's when you face something difficult and come out better for it. People who don't go through it, can't always understand. Sometimes these people celebrate that love, like when they march together in a parade. That's the parade we're going to today. You know our rainbow flag? You'll see a lot of them. That rainbow flag is every color because it's for everybody. Everybody has a right to love and be loved. This what that flag is about."

"That's what that means?" I know I blushed.

"Yes. It's for girls who love girls, and guys who love guys, and all the people who love and feel proud of those people for loving who they want to love. Now, I know you know Amy and I have been together since before you were born. But I don't think you realized when you called girls who kiss girls `weird,' that you were also talking about me and Amy." I don't know how, but she looked genuinely surprised at this point. I guess Amy and I are less demonstrative around her than I'd thought. "Married people love and sometimes kiss each other. I know you don't see us kiss too often, but you have seen us kiss. It's just that you're used to us being together, just like most people are used to guys and girls kissing each other. They just see that more often."
She was wide-eyed and nodding at this point.

"To be honest, I think you hurt Amy's feelings a little yesterday. Me, I don't care because I am weird in many ways and proud of them" (she laughed) "...but I think Aunt Amy felt very hurt by what you said even though she loves you no matter what. And this is what we really need to talk about. Did you mean to hurt Amy's feelings?"

She shook her head vehemently "No."

"So what do we do when we accidentally hurt some one's feelings?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't really know you guys kiss."

"It's okay. Maybe you can tell her you're sorry when she wakes up. That will make her feel a little better."

Of course, I knew Amy was listening at the door.

At this point, I put her on my lap. "I want you to know that you can think whatever you want. We will always love you." I paused, because I really wanted her to know this. But I felt the need to clarify things I hadn't realized needed clarifying. "Remember how we went to the picnic earlier?" She nodded. "And the water park?" She nodded again. "And how we played with those babies last week in the room with all those mommies? And marched with our friends on the island the week before that?" She recalled all of these. "All those families are like me and Amy. They are all woman who love women, or men who love men." I didn't expect her to comprehend every significance, but what could it hurt? "You know Tia Viviana and Tia Esmerelda?"

"Yes."

"They love each other and are married just like me and Amy."

"They are?"

"Yes. So are all those ladies we were with last week, and all the people we were with yesterday. See, I don't mind you thinking whatever you want to think, but this is a big part of my life. It's a big part that I can't share with you if you are going to call these people `weird.' While I love you, I just don't want their feelings to be hurt. They go through enough."

She was quietly digesting all this.

"Listen honey, you're growing up and have to start making choices about who you're going to be. Remember, you can think anything you want, and the people who call those of us who love each other `weird' can also think - and even say - anything they want as long as they don't hurt anybody. Sometimes people think they are doing the right thing when they say what's on their mind, and I'm not worried about how they feel because I understand. There was a time I felt the same way. It was only after really thinking about it that I was able to realize how much I love Amy. And those people may never feel the same way I do and that's fine. I know that for some of them, their actions stem from love. They may love me, and mean well. They may even someday change their mind about what they think. That's up to them and entirely their business. They just can't march in our parade."

She apologized to Amy when Amy came out, but didn't want any more rainbow tattoos. I took this as fitting and fair enough. She begged us to still come to the parade. After about an hour of hanging out on the back of a parade float off 5th Avenue and Madison soaking up the light and color and atmosphere though, she suddenly turned and begged me for a white baseball cap a vendor was selling on the corner with two women symbols "...like you and Amy" she said

- and the symbols were in rainbow.

I'm not sure I'd ever been as proud as I was that day.

Spare Pair

It was a difficult night. After spending 3 weeks sifting through Kody's poop with plastic bags and nose clips (Serious Mother's Day guilt being stored up from this!) it turns out the dime he may have swallowed had not just "come out the other end" intact as hoped - or even as five pennies and a nickel (as my wife suggested might be fun). Still we weren't prepared to be ushered into a medical laboratory tonight, (we thought we were just getting bug bites looked at) but our doc had suddenly deemed this immediate. So this impromptu trip to the doctor's office had lead us here to get X rays "before closing."


This was not a kid-friendly space and we were not prepared with kid-friendly amusements.


Already getting reprimanded for "letting" them run down the hall near radiation, and two hours of defensive blocking later, we were in overdrive trying to keep them cornered in this little 6x6 space meant to house one or maybe two X-ray patients before they get their "pictures" taken, but there were about 8 - 10 people waiting, no door and lots of corners! We were beyond obliviously exhausted at this point so we were unprepared to assess the meaning behind the disapproving glances of strangers.


Finally, Kody was at least called in for his shot. My wife went in with him while I "relaxed" and waited outside to containe our little one, Niky. At least we knew the end of this long night was near.


This woman who had been eyeing my wife and I since she first spotted us co-feeding the boys (interchangeably) in the first waiting room sat very strategically between us and the view of the teenage boy she seemed to want to ...protect. We'd been together a long time by now but I hadn't had room to entertain any thoughts about it. But I guess with my wife gone a moment of uncomfortable silence had descended upon us. She broke the silence first "Do you mind telling me what's the relationship?"


I wasn't sure at first whose relationship she was questioning. I actually assumed she meant the boys and dubbed it a rather odd question. "Relationship? Oh they're brothers" I exclaimed proudly.


"Yours? Or..." She motioned to the next room where Amy and Kody were getting the X rays.


Oh! "Ours." I finally realized the difficulty as she tried to nod but couldn't seem to muster it convincingly.


"We're married" I explained and hoped that would land decently.
I caught the foreboding glance she shot at the tall awkward teenage boy suddenly flushed and standing next to her even though I didn't have a breast out anymore for him to hide from.


"He swallowed a dime" I confessed for no reason in particular. Her face opened into an oval of concern. (One thing all mothers have in common, is children.) "It never came out the other end." I continued. "My wife thought this X ray was unnecessary but the doctor had said the word 'surgery' so I we weren't taking any chances. I hate second guessing my wife though." (We were a bit upset at having to get an X ray for a toddler.)


"I'm sorry, you... co-feed?"


Clearly, we both had our own agendas here.


"Well yeah,” I said getting up to lift Niky over my shoulder for the umpteenth time. "She gave birth to that one, and I gave birth to this one, but they both breastfeed."


I felt comfortable enough now to look at them. The teen was definitely her son. I think that was when I remembered her starting to block his line of sight when I was breastfeeding one of the boys. "Did you breastfeed?" I felt our relationship had progressed enough at this point to warrant the question.


"Yes" she said. I guessed not on demand.


"We're trying to keep it up as long as they need."


"Yes," she nodded. "They do say that's best."


Then she added almost as an afterthought, "It's very unusual" and she motioned to us.


"How long we're you able to keep it up?" I asked trying to bring us back to commonalities.


"Four months" she said. Then she appeared to go some beautifully particular place in her mind. "I would have liked to have done more."


"It's easier with a spare pair" I said.


She looked at me, visibly relaxed, and laughed genuinely for the first time.

I still wonder if she felt better or worse off for the moment overall.